


Counterpoint

by yodasyoyo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Feels, Trope Subversion/Inversion, disdain to tolerance to "oh shit no not love"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 08:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: “Wow. This is a great apology.” Tony leans back in his seat. “Is it your first time? Are you an apology virgin? Am I poppin’ your cherry?”Or:When is a soulmate AU not a soulmate AU.





	Counterpoint

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not my usual fandom. But I'd been reading a lot of Stony, and then I watched Endgame, and then I had FEELINGS that needed to be WRITTEN DOWN. I'm sure you understand.
> 
> Special shout out to my beloved Artemis69. I only wrote anything in this fandom, because you told me that I should. So. I guess. Technically this is your fault.
> 
> Full credit for that last tag goes to stardating, who left it as part of their comment, and I loved it so much I added it as a tag <3

Steve Rogers doesn’t have a soul mark patch over his wrist. That’s the first thing Tony notices when they finally meet out of armor on the helicarrier. Well, maybe not the first thing. The first thing Tony notices is that the guy is kind of a self-righteous douche. Handsome, sure, in that blond, blue eyed, all-American way— but a self-righteous douche nonetheless.

The soul mark patch thing is notable though, because that’s the most common place for the name of a person’s soulmate to appear. Soul marks manifest at birth. Something like 80% of people have theirs on their wrist, and most choose to wear a patch over it. Steve has no patch, and no mark.

Still, people can, and do, have marks in other places. So just because Steve doesn’t have a mark on his wrist, doesn’t mean it isn’t somewhere else. _Probably over his holier-than-thou heart,_ Tony thinks bitterly, as Rogers gets in his face and tells him to stop pretending to be a hero. Tells him he’s not the guy to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. Tony rubs a thumb over the patch on his own wrist, and clenches his jaw.

They might be under the influence of Loki’s scepter at that point, but even when that’s worn off the echo of Steve’s words still smarts.

The last few years have been an exercise in atonement. Tony’s spent a long time trying to prove himself post Afghanistan, trying to repair the damage that’s been done in his name, step out from under a tarnished legacy and make a tangible difference in the world. It’s become something of an obsession— and his old, pre-Iron Man armor, that polished corporate veneer with it’s practiced charm, is not as effective as it used to be at deflecting blows. Especially not blows delivered by a living American legend that his dad idolized. Tony spent most of his childhood feeling like he was being compared unfavorably to Steve Rogers, and now he’s met the guy in person, his inferiority complex returns and smacks him in the face full force.

It’s more than that, though. What Tony’s doing now as Iron Man matters— and when something matters it leaves him vulnerable. Sure, in the moment, Tony marshals his own defenses and spits angry words back, but the damage is done. Like all good soldiers Steve’s first strike is brutal and efficient, exposing all Tony’s biggest insecurities.

So while it might be Pepper that Tony calls later when he’s delivering the nuke through the wormhole during their final battle with the Chitauri, it’s Steve’s words that are still echoing through his head.

It’s Steve that he wants to prove himself to.

Well.

Steve, and himself.

Always himself.

When Tony comes to on the streets of New York minutes later, dazed and bruised, but victorious, it’s to find Steve crouching over him looking relieved and a little scared. Tony can relate- more to the fear than the relief.

The whole battle he hadn’t had a chance to process, just reacted to what was in front of him. It’s only now, as he lies there on the ground blinking up at Steve, that the true horror of what just happened starts to seep in— a creeping realization, slow at first and then rushing over him like a tidal wave: What this alien invasion means for the people he loves. What it means for this band of misfits that could be a team. What it means for the city he lives in. For America. For the planet as a whole.

Earth is unprepared.

Woefully, stupidly unprepared.

Tony’s a big picture kinda guy, and now his mind’s been opened to the impossibility of what’s facing them, what’s _out there_ — he knows he isn’t gonna be able to switch it off. He makes the connections instantly. The Avengers can’t be a one time thing, that much is clear. Whatever alchemy exists between the six of them needs to be nurtured and encouraged. Because the only way they stand a chance against what’s coming is as a team. He could open the tower up to them. They could move in, train together. They could—

No.

He’s moving too quickly.

Baby steps.

“Have you ever had shawarma?” he asks.

Hulk grunts, and Steve looks down at him bemused.

 

-  


“Hey” Steve says to him later, when they’re leaving the Shawarma place. Clint and Nat are behind, smirking at some inside joke, Thor and Hulk are ahead, tussling playfully. Steve’s shoulder to shoulder with Tony, his cowl pulled back, star spangled suit torn and grubby. For his part, Tony’s finally out of armor, and appreciating the cool evening air against his skin. Sirens sound somewhere in the distance as they pick their way back through the rubble together, passed crumbling buildings and overturned cars. “I wanted to—” Steve clears his throat and trails off, looks away awkwardly.

After a beat Tony says, “You gonna finish that sentence?”

“Yeah—” Steve squares his shoulders and meets Tony’s eye. “You did good.”

Tony arches an eyebrow at him, warmth spreading in his chest in spite of himself. “I know,” he says mock seriously. Because he loves a Star Wars reference and it feels like a Han Solo moment. Sure, Steve hasn’t just declared his undying love, but given how much the two of them have fought in the last couple days, how openly disdainful Steve has been, any acknowledgement that Tony has done well feels like it carries the same weight somehow. 

Steve scowls. “I—”

“You too,” Tony says quickly, before Steve can walk it back. “You did good too. You were very. Captain Americary. Impressive. I’m serious.”

“Right.” Steve looks troubled, his shoulders are a solid bar of tension and Tony feels like he’s losing the little bit of solidarity they worked so hard to gain, can almost see it trickling away.

“You- You should stay,” he blurts.

“Stay?”

“At the tower. You. All of you. Stay. There’s plenty of room and then we can all help with clean up.” He gestures vaguely at a building across the street that has a chunk missing from it. At the rubble on the sidewalk, at shards of broken glass. At street lamps that have been snapped like matchsticks.

“Right,” Steve says. Then, as his gaze darts around taking in the destruction he blinks, and clears his throat. “Yes. Absolutely. We should definitely help with that. If you’re sure about me--uh--us staying. With you.”

He’s giving Tony a look. One Tony can’t quite parse, like he’s surprised, or maybe confused.

Like he didn’t expect this kind of offer from someone like Tony.

 _I’m really never gonna be good enough for you, am I?_ Tony thinks, and then, because this train of thought is intrusive and familiar. _I’m never gonna be good enough for anyone._  
  
Stroking a thumb absently over the patch on his wrist, he swallows down the hurt and flashes Steve a grin, a pre-iron man grin, all teeth and charm. He hopes it doesn’t look as brittle as it feels. “I’m sure,” he says, and sucks in a breath. “Hey, I’m gonna go catch up with—” He gestures ahead to where the Hulk has just clapped Thor  on the back and sent him careening into a nearby car; it’s alarm starts up, the shrill whine bounces off the buildings and sends a flock of starlings fluttering upwards, wheeling overhead, before they settle again on a rooftop.

He can feel the weight of Steve’s gaze on him as he jogs away.  


-  


Just as Tony suggests, the Avengers stick around in the aftermath of the attack, living at Stark Tower and working with the local authorities to help clean up and rebuild the city. It’s the right thing to do, and comes with the added bonus of being great PR for the team. They have their own rooms in the tower but share a communal living space which Tony decks out with a pool table, a big TV and several games consoles. The fridge in their shared kitchen always has beer in it, and the views of the city are spectacular. Phase one of getting the Avengers to be more than just a one time thing is a go, and it certainly helps that Fury seems to be on board.

Two weeks pass and things are settling nicely. Thor’s away delivering Loki to Asgard, but the others have all fallen into a companionable routine of shared meals and the kind of easy camaraderie that Tony thinks is probably only possible when you’ve risked your lives fending off an alien invasion and saving the planet together.

It’s good.

Great even.

Sort of.

Except for the bit where he’s kinda been avoiding Steve.

Well, not avoiding exactly. It’s hardly Tony’s fault if they keep different hours, and are never tasked to be on the same clean up teams together. (Ok that bit might be because Tony got JARVIS to rejig the schedule, but that’s beside the point. Nobody else knows that, and what passes between a man and his AI has the sanctity of a confessional. Nobody can _prove_ anything).

Plus, it’s not like Steve has noticed, or seems to care if he has.

The only time they’re forced to interact is when they attend SHIELD meetings together with the other Avengers each morning. During those Steve maintains a kind of cautious cordiality. A veneer of politeness that, Tony notes with grim satisfaction, isn’t in evidence in his interactions with any of the other Avengers. Steve has in jokes with them, he shares warms smiles and friendly glances. He’s even been known to laugh.

Tony gets the special treatment then, which he’d complain about, but the truth is he’s just as guarded as Steve. He has a host of nicknames for the others, enjoys bantering with them, working alongside them during the day, and hanging out with them at night. Steve, though? It’s like they’re two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that should fit together, but don’t, and neither of them seem to know why.

It doesn’t matter. That’s what Tony tells himself. The important thing is that the Avengers are a thing, that both he and Steve are here, making it work as best they can. If keeping each other at arm’s length is what it takes to make that happen, then that’s what they’ll do.

Besides, it isn’t a big thing really. They’re busy all day, and in the evenings Steve is out a lot, helping old ladies cross the street, or rescuing kittens from trees, or whatever it is national icons do when they’re not cleaning up the city they helped rescue. Some days it seems like he only comes back to the tower to sleep. When Tony casually mentions this to Clint, he says Steve helps at a charity that supports homeless veterans a few nights a week. Tony smiles, nods, and in the privacy of his room that night pours himself a whiskey or three. Then at 3 A.M. maudlin, alone and more than a little drunk he tells JARVIS to make an anonymous donation and rolls into bed. This, he thinks blearily, this is the guy he’s managed to alienate so thoroughly. Nice job, Stark.

On the evenings when Steve is around, Tony does them both a favor, locks himself away in his workshop and buries himself in work. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. He has a suit of armor to maintain, and upgrades for the team’s equipment to work on— he can’t let them keep using the trash SHIELD gave them, after all, that’d be immoral.  
  
The fact that Steve so clearly doesn’t like him— or at least doesn’t think much of him— stings, though. Tony may not always like himself, but that’s different, that’s _normal_ . No one actually likes themselves, do they? It’s fine for _Tony_ to pick apart his own flaws and achievements. To take every moment, every decision, good or bad, hold it up to the light and scrutinize it.  
  
It’s another thing to know that Steve, with his shining aura of calm, moral certainty and relentless goodness, views him as the superhero equivalent of a knockoff Gucci purse. Cheap. Gaudy, and ultimately worthless. Every time Tony’s alone with his own thoughts he can hear Steve’s words echoing through his head, telling him he’s playing pretend at being a hero. Can see the look on Steve’s face when Tony had suggested the other Avengers move in and help with the clean up: utterly confused. Like he’d just witnessed a stray dog reading a newspaper.

Tony can’t let his own insecurities get in the way, though, that’s the thing. The earth doesn’t need them to be best buds, doesn’t need Steve to _like_ him— and it doesn’t care about Tony’s fragile ego either. All it needs is for them to work as part of the Avengers, and, as long as they keep this holding pattern, Tony thinks they can do that. So he does what’s necessary, he’s civil. He upgrades the teams equipment (including Steve’s shield), he attends meetings, and generally tries to be as good a host to Steve as he can be without talking to him any more than is absolutely necessary.

The only one who seems to notice that there’s a problem is Natasha, and she broaches the subject with Tony exactly once. “How long are you gonna let this go on?” she asks one evening after Tony ambles into the kitchen to make himself a coffee, and Steve stands immediately and makes his excuses with a strained look on his face.

“What?” Tony says feigning ignorance.

She raises an eyebrow saying nothing, and Tony’s never thought of silence as a weapon before, but it turns out Nat’s as skilled with it as the collection of knives she carries with her.

“He doesn’t like me,” Tony says brusquely. “But we’re making it work as best we can.”

She rolls her eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be a genius, Stark,” she says cryptically. “Jesus.”

“I am a genius,” he protests as she walks away. “Just a really annoying one. Apparently.”

-

A couple days after that conversation Tony’s sitting at his work bench making a few necessary adjustments to the repulsors on his gauntlets. Or he’s trying to until Steve interrupts him.

“Stark,” Steve says, as the doors to the workshop swish open. “We need to talk.”

Tony grabs a screwdriver and doesn’t look round, feels tension knot in his stomach.

This place is supposed to be his sanctuary.

He’s gonna have words with JARVIS later goddammit.

He should have been warned about this. If he'd known he would’ve locked the doors or hidden in a closet or something.

“Sure,” he says. “What’s up, Cap?”

“I—” Steve walks to the workbench and stands, well— hovers really, hands clasped behind his back. “Uh. Well. I wanted to apologize. I--um--I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

That’s unexpected. “Wha— really?” Tony swipes one grimy hand across his face, eyes finally darting up to look at Steve.

“Yeah. I was wrong. Before. About you. I underestimated you. I mean, sure, you’re kind of—” Steve hesitates.

“A dick?”

“I was gonna go with asshole,” Steve rubs the back of his neck with is hand. “--but ok.”

“Wow. This is a great apology.” Tony leans back in his seat. “Is it your first time? Are you an apology virgin? Am I poppin’ your cherry?”

Steve flushes but forces himself to stand a little straighter. “What I mean is,” he plows on. “The things I said in the helicarrier. I thought that stuff at first. But not now. I. The way you— I misjudged. I—” He swallows.

“Yeaaah. Don’t hurt yourself, Cap. I get it. We both said stuff we regret yadda yadda yadda.” Tony twirls the small screwdriver in his hand like it’s a baton. “Forget about it. Water under the bridge.”

“But—”

“We were both assholes. It was partly Loki’s mindfuck scepter and partly my natural reaction to how annoying you are.” He smirks, and Steve scowls, but his shoulders drop as he exhales slowly.

“Ok.” Steve reaches out his hand like he’s gonna touch Tony’s workbench, then seems to decide against it and lets it drop to his side. “Good. Fine.”  

“Fine.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth lifts, and after a moment of awkward eye contact he says, “That all?”

Pursing his lips, Steve narrows his eyes. “Not gonna say it back, huh.”

 _You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle._ Tony can hear the echo of his own words, and he swallows looking down at the gauntlet on his workbench. “I just did.”

“I must have missed that.”

“I admitted that we both sucked and said things we regretted. That’s— basically the same thing.”

When he glances up the look Steve shoots him is dry as the desert, the corner of his mouth twitches though, like maybe he’s amused. “Fine.”

Tony runs a grimy thumb over his soul mark patch, and meets Steve’s unwavering gaze briefly but can’t hold it, finds himself looking down and away. “You uh— wanna, um— hold this steady for me while I try and get the oojamaflip out of this thingamadoodle.” He gestures to his gauntlet.

Steve’s eyes are still on him, they seem to stare right through him. “Fine,” Steve says, but the hard edges of the word are softer. Slowly he reaches out and takes hold of the gauntlet that’s resting on the workbench. “Like this?”

“That’s right. Hold it still. It got dented in the fight with the chitauri and I really need to lever open the casing and retrieve— Unghhhh.” Metal creaks. “That motherfu--aha! Nearly.”

“Oojamaflip and thingamadoodle,” Steve says as he braces the gauntlet and watches Tony work. “Are those the technical terms?”

“Sure. That’s the great thing about being an inventor, after all. I can name stuff whatever I want.”

“So. When you were working on my shield the other week—”

“Ah yes,” Tony says fondly, smirking at him. “You mean the friscus.”

“Friscus.”

“Friscus. Like frisbee and discus. Friscus.”  
  
“But—”

“I don’t invent the rules, Rogers.”  
  
“Just the names?”

“Exactly.” He bumps their shoulders together companionably, and Steve sighs heavily through his nose, but his shoulders are relaxed, lacking the tension they had when he came in. It— it’s good.

For the first time Tony thinks might actually be ok. It makes something warm bloom in his chest. He tries not to think about it too much.

If they can keep this. Just this. Maybe they’ll be fine.  


-  


Things are better than fine. Tony would go as far as to say they are cautiously trending towards good, although he doesn't wanna overstate it.

Once the clean-up operation is over, the team all just sorta— stay around—  like Tony hoped they would. Thor comes back from Asgard and settles in at the tower with the others. He plays endless rounds of Mario Kart with Clint, beats Bruce at Chess, and develops a deep and abiding love of K-dramas.

Fury wants a team, and he gets one, has them hunting down Hydra cells, or dealing with whatever threat has appeared this week intent on taking over the world Pinky and the Brain style. When the team are not out avenging things, they come back to the tower and bicker over who ate the last philly cheesesteak hot pocket or whose turn it is to load the dishwasher.

It’s like a family. A weird, dysfunctional family, sure. But still less dysfunctional than Tony’s actual one, and he kind of secretly loves it.

Loves late nights in the lab with Bruce exploring the outer reaches of some scientific conundrum.  
  
Loves training with Nat, who is brutal, but fair minded and funny— and takes great delight in kicking Tony’s ass.  
  
Loves watching the Bachelor with Clint and Thor, while they talk trash at the TV and binge on candy.

But most of all, Tony loves Steve.

Likes.

He likes Steve.

A normal amount.

A completely normal amount.

In fact like is probably too strong a word actually. He tolerates Steve.

He tolerates Steve, because even though things are better and they actually talk now, the guy is definitely still kind of a self-righteous douche.

Tony totally called that correctly, and now they’re not skulking around like cowards trying to avoid each other they’re bickering more than ever before. It's amazing.

The fact is, Steve may be a master tactician but sometimes he hasn’t considered all the options (because sometimes he isn't aware of them) and Tony is the one who challenges him, plays devil’s advocate— makes him think. Steve takes it in his stride, if Tony didn’t know better he’d say he even seems to enjoy it.

It isn’t just team stuff though. Now they’re not actively avoiding each other in the tower, Tony realizes that Steve is fastidious in the extreme. Persnickety, even.

Case in point, when the team returned home from battling a genetically engineered rat monster in the sewers last week, (and _after_ everyone had showered), Tony ordered a mountain of pizza so large even the combined efforts of Steve and Thor hadn’t managed to defeat it. At the end of the evening, Steve had carefully put the leftovers in Tupperware containers which he then put in the fridge.

Like a goddamn psychopath.

It had fallen on Tony's shoulders to sit him down and explain that pizza had to be left out overnight in the box, so that decent hardworking superheroes could eat the congealed, room temperature remains for breakfast the next morning, the way God and America intended.  
  
Then there’s the way Steve always washes his dishes straight after a meal— by hand, too, rather than using the dishwasher, because he ‘finds it relaxing.’ The weirdo.

Not to mention Steve darns his socks. And. AND. He irons his underwear.

He irons. Underwear. Who does that? Tony’s Iron Man— even he doesn’t iron his underwear.  
  
But Steve stands there diligently ironing every single item of clothing he possesses, folding it neatly, while he watches Golden Girls reruns and chuckles to himself.

It’s adora—

No!

No. Not adorable.

It’s something. Something, is what it is.

And whenever Tony teases Steve about any of this shit the guy gets this cute. No. Not cute. Just— Jesus. Ok. Steve gets this crinkle in his forehead and his ears turn pink, and Tony cannot.

He cannot.

That’s all.

Sometimes Tony just kinda wants to see that expression more, and so maybe he teases Steve a little, seeks him out and teases him.

Just a tiny bit.

Nothing bad.

And sometimes Steve flushes, rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and sometimes,  _sometimes,_ he teases Tony back. And that? That’s the best.

Tony has had this image of who Captain America is in his head since he was a kid, ok? An intimidating image. One he could never live up to.  And now here he is, getting to know Cap. Getting to know _Steve_ — The man behind the cowl. And it’s nothing like he thought it would be.

Because it’s better.

It’s so much better.

 

-

 

The day after the team battles a weird tentacle beast that has laid eggs in a Walmart in Poughkeepsie, Tony realizes he has a problem.

A serious problem.

It’s a lazy Sunday morning, and Tony follows his nose to the shared kitchen to find Steve is frying bacon over the stove, to go with the pancakes he’s already made.

“Order up,” he says as Tony approaches, bleary eyed and craving coffee. Steve flips pancakes onto a plate, then nudges the bacon out of the pan on top of them.

“Y’sure?” Tony asks, eyeing them hungrily.

“Yeah. Of course.”

That’s when it happens.

That’s when Steve smiles at him.

It’s a full on, proper smile, warm and open, beautiful and brilliant. Late morning sun streams in through the kitchen window catching the blond of Steve’s hair, make it shine like spun gold. He’s wearing a white tank top, and he has the arm muscles of a greek god, and he just made Tony breakfast.

Because he’s a good guy.

The best.

God.

Tony gapes a little. He is in trouble. How has he not realized this? He rubs his thumb idly over his own patch, jaw going slack.

“There's coffee too. You ok?”

“Yeah.” No.

“Are you sure?” Steve’s brilliant smile falters.

Tony swallows and flashes his most charming smile. “I’m fine. Just temporarily overcome by the sight of the most handsome man in America making me pancakes for breakfast. Isn’t that allowed?”

Steve cuts him a look. “Har Har. Very funny.”

“What?” Tony crams a strip of his bacon into his mouth and chews like his life depends on it. God it’s hot. Too hot. He’s burning his mouth. He breathes rapidly, trying to cool it. “I men ev’ry wor’,” he says, garbled, because he’s burned his tongue.

“Sure y’do,” Steve says, and nudges an extra strip of bacon on to Tony’s plate. “There’s syrup over there.” He nods at a bottle on the counter.

“Fanks,” Tony says thickly, trying to breathe cool air onto his burned tongue and not choke on a mouthful of bacon at the same time.

Steve turns back to his pan and adds more bacon. Tony grabs the syrup bottle, flips the cap up, and watches Steve out the corner of his eye. The corded muscle of his forearms, the deft way his fingers move.

Shit.  
  
Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Seriously. Are you ok?” Steve’s looking at him again, face pinched in concern.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just. That’s a lot of syrup is all.”

“Wha— shit! Shit.” Tony tips the bottle the right way up and slams it back on the counter. Goddammit. Way too much syrup. The lake Michigan of syrup.

“You wanna throw that in the trash? I can make more.”

“Nah,” Tony gestures to his plate weakly. “I--uh— I have a sweet tooth anyway. So. I’m gonna just— Take this down to the workshop and uh— Things to do so.”

“Oh.” Steve shoulders slump, he looks a little crestfallen. “Sure.”

“Thanks, though. This is uh—” Tony gestures to the plate. “Thanks.”

“Right.” Steve nods.

Tony’s eyes dart across Steve’s face, and then, because he can’t help himself, over Steve’s muscled chest. That shirt is pretty thin— he thinks to himself absently, taking another bite of bacon. No soul mark patch there.

That just means Steve’s soul mark is somewhere else, though. Like his thigh. Or his butt. Or his dick.

The thought makes Tony choke on his food.

He’s a terrible person. And this train of thought is both inappropriate and on another, more personal level, deeply depressing.

Steve is immediately there, slapping him on the back. “Are you sure you’re ok?” he asks, when Tony’s finally stopped spluttering.

“Yuh-huh. Yeah. Yup. Yes. Definitely. I am--uh. A. ok. Good. Peachy keen jelly bean.”

Steve looks at him, expression soft. He’s close. So close, and as he reaches out brushing his fingers along Tony’s bicep, it’s all Tony can do not to shiver.

“Tony, what’s—”

“Work,” Tony says, grabbing his plate and clutching it to his chest like a shield. “I have to work. I have to work on stuff. And things. Downstairs. So. Um. Thanks. For this.” The door to the kitchen opens and Clint and Bruce trail through one behind the other. “More customers!” Tony calls manically as he backs away. “Better get on that, Chefsicle.”

 _Chefiscle?_ He mouths to himself as he turns and flees the room.  
  
When he gets to the workshop he shoves his plate and mug down and spends the next ten minutes literally banging his head against his workbench. Stupid heart. Stupid Steve. Stupid fucking feelings. He didn't even get his stupid coffee. He’s supposed to be better than this. He’s supposed to have learned his goddamn lesson after Pepper.

“Are you quite well, Sir?” JARVIS asks in a voice of mild concern.

“Just regretting all my life choices,” Tony says, letting his head thud against the cool metal for a moment. “So. No big.”

Dum-E rolls over and nudges Tony’s thigh sympathetically with his claw.

“Thanks, bud,” Tony says, petting him gently. “That means a lot.”

 

-

 

Tony’s a master at compartmentalizing, that’s the thing. The Avengers need him and Steve to function. He’s in love with Steve. Steve thinks they’re best friends.

Tony can totally deal.

After all, he was in love with Pepper. They even dated for a while, until she, inevitably, found her soulmate and they broke up. But they went back to being friends, and work colleagues immediately. Sure, it hurt like a bitch for a while, but Tony had spent years burying his hurts and his feelings. Rejection, he learned from an early age, is inevitable. It’s the one constant in life. So he was prepared. He was accepting. Now, nearly a year later, he and Pepper are as good as they ever were.

Tony can do that again, minus the inadvisable dating. 

He can totally do that again with Steve. Nothing can, or will happen romantically. He knows that. He just has to keep his feelings in a carefully marked box and bury them deep as deep as possible. Eventually they’ll go away, and things can get back to normal.

That’s all.

It’s a coping mechanism that’s served him well over the years. It’s totally gonna work again now.

So. Life with the Avengers goes on.

He and Steve fight (bad guys) and they bicker (with each other).

But the thing is— it doesn’t work. Because working with Steve is the best. They make a great team, on and off the field.

It’s a dynamic Tony can’t quite explain.

But it feels special. It feels special when Steve calls him Shellhead, voice warm and affectionate. It feels special when Steve slings an arm around Tony’s shoulder, and squeezes like he’s proud. It feels special when Steve asks if he can sit in the workshop and sketch while Tony works on whatever project he’s currently doing-- just because he likes Tony's company. When he praises Tony's inventions or his generosity. When he says, with heartbreaking sincerity, that Tony's a good guy, that he's important to the team. Tony leans towards it like a flower starved of sunlight, works longer, tries harder. He's used to people complimenting him. He can count on one hand the number of people who've meant it before now.

So it's possible his usual compartmentalizing isn't working.

But his whole damn life Tony never really expected to have this with anyone.

And he knows- god does he know- that it isn’t his to keep.

He knows Steve isn’t even on the same page he is.

But he’s gonna appreciate what it is while it lasts.

 

-

 

It was inevitable really. The conversation was always gonna happen. Especially when the team lives in such close proximity with each other. So when he finally walks in on it in progress, Tony’s only shocked it didn’t occurred sooner.

Thor’s the one who broaches it. He doesn’t have a soul mark. Soulmates are not a thing for Asgardians, apparently. Tony overhears him say as much when he emerges from his workshop in search of coffee and finds the whole team sitting around the table in the kitchen chatting.

“These Midgardian markings— they determine who you will love? Your romantic partner?” Thor asks.

“That’s how it worked for me,” Bruce says, staring down at his wrist where Tony happens to know the name Betty Ross is written in elegant cursive.

“So you have met this person then.” Thor tilts his head. “And yet you are not together?”

“Well, what with the,” Bruce make a gesture that strongly implies Hulk. “It didn’t really work out. I still love her, we love each other, but—”

“Ah. I see. My condolences.”

“It isn’t always romantic,” Clint says after the ensuing silence extends just a little too long.

“How so?”

Clint darts a glance at Nat who nods imperceptibly. “Nat and I are platonic.”

Tony sucks in a little breath. Platonic bonds are rare, but not unheard of. Suddenly their codependent relationship makes more sense.

“Ah. Interesting. Platonic you say. So you two have never—” Thor raises one eyebrow.

“We tried once near the beginning,” Nat says. “It didn’t work out.”

“That happens to some men,” Thor says, nodding sagely at Clint. “Especially after drinking mead. I mean. Not to me personally. But I’ve heard that it may happen, Barton. Even to the bravest warriors.”

“Hey,” Clint says. “Everything works, ok? Everything—” He gestures at his crotch. “Works fine. It’s just— we don’t have that energy. The chemistry is wrong. It isn’t a romantic attachment. I love Nat more than anyone in the world. We just— don’t work _that_ way.” He shrugs, glancing at her and she smiles.

“Wow. I’ve never met someone with a platonic bond before,” Bruce says, head cocked, “they only account for about two percent of all soulbonds. The only thing that’s rarer is—”

“No soul mark at all,” Tony finishes for him. Everyone looks around at him, where he’s standing by the coffee machine, and he flashes them a practiced smile. “0.2 percent of the population are born without a mark.”

“Hey Tony,” Bruce says, “didn’t see you come in.”

“Hey Tony.” Clint says, then adds, “Geeze, can you imagine being one of those poor fuckers.”

“Right?” Tony says, taking a sip from his mug and grimacing. “Just imagine.”

“What does it mean?” Thor asks. “If a human does not have a mark?”

“Nobody knows,” Nat says with a shrug. “Some people just don’t.”

“So it is not simply that their mate has not yet been born? Or has died?”

“You're born with the name, regardless of when your soulmate is born,” Clint says. “And even if your soulmate dies—” He shudders. “--The mark just fades, but it’s still visible. Or so I hear.”

Steve, who has been quiet this whole time clears his throat. “Actually it depends how long it is since uh—” Everyone looks at him, and he shrugs helplessly. “I had a mark, but then when I was three years old it started to fade. Got paler and paler. It’s been, what, twenty-three years now or ninety-three I guess, depending how you look at it—” He holds his wrist up to the light and tilts it. "I can just about see it.”

“Oh god. I’m sorry,” Nat says after a beat. “That’s--”

“It is what it is. It was more common back then. No vaccinations. Sanitation wasn’t as great. Infant mortality was— a whole thing. It wasn’t uncommon for—” He glances down and rubs his hand over his wrist. “It wasn’t even that common to meet them. You guys have the internet. Back then, we just had to hope we’d run into each other. Plenty of people ended up falling in love without the bond.”

Nobody says anything for a beat, but Tony can feel the guilty weight of the silence.

“I mean— at least you had someone, I guess,” Tony says, and his voice sounds odd to his own ears. Thick and high at the same time. “Even if you never met them. There was someone out there that was meant just for you— that means something.”

Steve meets his eyes, holds his gaze, and smiles small, soft. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

“Anyone for another beer?” Clint says, chair scraping noisily against the tiled floor as he gets to his feet.

There’s a chorus of grunts and general assent and, heart pounding, Tony takes the opportunity to slip away.

 

-

 

He doesn’t know why he’s taking it so hard. It doesn’t make sense. So Steve has a soul mate. Had. Past tense. But still. Some part of Tony always knew that Steve would have one.

Always.

His stupid feelings notwithstanding.

Steve being what he is, how could he not?

So it’s ridiculous to feel this unmoored by the news.

He is though. Completely. He feels adrift. Helpless and somehow more alone than ever.

He slumps down onto the nearest stool and sinks his head into his hands, clutching at his hair.

He should have—

“Tony?” says Steve, and goddammit, one of these days Tony’s gonna put a bell on that guy.

At the sound of his name, Tony jerks to attention, but doesn’t look around. Just reaches blindly for the nearest tool on the bench and starts to use it on an errant piece of circuit board that’s close at hand.

“Hey,” Steve continues. “You ok?”

Out of the corner of Tony’s eye he sees Steve edge closer. “Why wouldn’t I be ok?”

“I don’t know—” Steve sounds hesitant. “You just kinda bolted and—”

“Work. Just work. That’s all. You know me. Ha!”

“I do.” Steve’s closer now, close enough that Tony can feel the heat bleeding off him.

He stops trying to use a use a pair of pliers to chip away at a piece of solder and sighs. “Do you?”

Steve exhales slowly. “I think I do. What you’ll let me know anyway.”

Tony shoots an irritated glance at him. He feels frustrated, despairing and so fucking done with everything. Picking up the pliers again, he smacks them into the circuit board repeatedly. Hard. It splinters under the barrage of blows, and utterly disgusted with himself he throws the pliers to one side.

The silence that follows feels like it's gonna swallow him whole.

“What do you want?” Tony spits, when he can’t bear it any more.

“You--uh. You never told us your soulmate story,” Steve says eventually, gesturing at Tony’s patch.

Tony swallows, looking down. He picks at a loose thread on the soul patch, pulling at it. “Not much to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell.”

Tony laughs and it’s a hollow unpleasant sound. “No, Cap,” he says, standing and turning to face Steve, he curls his fingers around the patch and ripping it off his wrist. “No there really isn’t.” He holds up his bare wrist.

“Oh—” Steve winces.

“That’s right, I’m one of— how did Clint phrase it again? Those poor fuckers. The 0.2%. No soul mark. No soulmate. Not even one who didn’t survive. I wear the patch to stop awkward questions. Because there’s literally no one in the whole universe who could ever love—”

“Tony,” Steve says his name soft but firm, reaching out his fingers circle Tony’s wrist and he cradles it between large hands with surprising tenderness. “Tony,” he says again, even more gentle as he slides their palms together, fingers intertwined as he draws their clasped hands to his chest. “Please. Stop.”

“Don’t—” Tony says, voice hoarse.

"But I-"  
  
“Don’t. I don’t. I can’t do this. I won’t. I can’t be the place holder for the one you’ll never have. It’ll drive me crazy.”

“That’s not what this is—”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s a name, Tony. Just a faded name. I never knew them. I never will know them. I’ve lost a lot, but this isn’t one of the things that hurts. Not any more. And anyway,” Steve tilts his chin, mulish. Obstinate. Achingly familiar. “I don’t need the universe to tell me who I love. I already know.”

He looks straight at Tony, not let going of his hand.

“You’re a suave son of a bitch, Rogers,” Tony manages, glaring up at him. His heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

Steve leans in and rests his forehead against Tony’s. Smiles. “You should remember that the next time you’re teasing me for ironing my underwear.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you kudos or leave comments then I'm always eternally grateful, you guys are the real MVP's <3
> 
> First time writing these characters, so be gentle with me. LOL.
> 
> Come join me on [tumblr!](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/)


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